


In Another Life, We'd be Good for Each Other

by AbbyRosette



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyRosette/pseuds/AbbyRosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For so long, he lived under the notion that she had been a good person. He had been wrong. She was a good person for someone else. So good that she would imprison herself to avoid compromising them.</p><p>Was this envy that made his fingers grip the pen a little harder?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another Life, We'd be Good for Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> This contains mAJOR ANGST. I'm sorry.

The jarring metallic scrape of keys sliced through the still air like discordant music. The knob turned stiffly in his hand, cold to the touch. Everything repulsed him. Everything told him to turn away. Everything forbade. 

She was the sun and he was Icarus, but he pressed on with the knowledge that getting closer would be his undoing. The academic pursuit of understanding had perhaps been an excuse. Emotional catharsis wasn’t an indulgence widely offered to soldiers. He knew that to be true. 

Perhaps what he sought lay somewhere in the middle. 

Weak light flickered across the iridescent surface, scattering through luminous valleys and peaks as if merely illuminating the beautiful landscape of her prison would numb the effects of seeing her again. Some of the most beautiful things in this world were also the ugliest. 

This was one of those things. 

The cramped quarters weren’t conducive to open thinking. The air itself was heavy as if it hadn’t been disturbed in a long while; as if he was a trespasser. As his hand hovered centimeters above the etched surface of her crystal sarcophagus he almost believed that he was. 

”Annie," The silence shattered around him but she remained untouched. Fingers tightened around the notebook he’d taken in with him. Documentations. Observations. Theories. He was there for practical reasons, of course. He couldn’t forget that, so he pulled a small chair up in front of her suspended figure and held his pen poised above fresh parchment. 

Could she hear him? Would his efforts even matter? Had she found a way to finally depart from them forever? 

For so long, he lived under the notion that she had been a good person.

He had been wrong. 

She was a good person for someone else. So good that she would imprison herself to avoid compromising them.

Was this envy that made his fingers grip the pen a little harder? 

"This reminds me of a story my grandfather told me," The words poured from him as if drawn from a well deep in his heart. "I’ll read it to you."

This was a promise he could keep. They had two hours together, Hanji relieving him of his research duties just in time for lunch. Reading to her would be a way to test response to external stimuli. That was what he told himself.

The story began with a magic mirror that distorted everything it reflected. Nothing good could ever be seen in its sterling depths, instead it twisted everything and everyone into something ugly. Even the loveliest of pastures appeared wicked in its reflection. 

But then that mirror broke. 

Like snowflakes, the shards drifted across the land. They lodged themselves in people’s hearts and eyes, killing compassion and blinding them to the beauty that had once appeared so obvious. As the story came to an end and the silence settled around him once more, he wondered if there was a glimmer of truth in the old fable.

Had their hearts been infected with splinters of glittering silver? 

Had she been poisoned to her core? 

Had he been blinded by the looking glass?

She was a traitor most vile, yet he felt no hatred. That cold feeling that spread its ink-black fingers through his gut ached of melancholy. She was a comrade most misunderstood, yet he had failed to grasp anything until it was too late. 

“You’re not a good person to me.” 

”I suppose you never truly were.” 

For one foolish moment, he could have sworn she had heard him clear as day. 

Of course that had to be folly.


End file.
